the fact that their instinct hadn't changed for thousands, maybe tens of thousands,
of years.
Sometimes he wondered if man's instincts had changed in that time and always
concluded that they hadn't. At least in the basic, most primal ways. As far as he
could tell, man had always been aggressive, always striving to dominate, trying to
control the world and everything in it. The war in Europe and Japan proved that.
He quit working a little after three and walked to a small shed that sat near his
dock. He went in, found his fishing pole, a couple of lures, and some live crickets he
kept on hand, then walked out to the dock, baited his hook,and cast his line.
Fishing always made him reflect on his life, and he did it now. After his mother
died, he could remember spending his days in a dozen different homes, and for one
reason or another, he stuttered badly as a child and was teased for it. He began to
speak less and less, and by the age of five, he wouldn't speak at all. When he started
classes, his teachers thought he was retarded and recommended that he be pulled
out of school.
Instead, his father took matters into his own hands. He kept him in school and
afterward made him come to the lumberyard, where he worked, to haul and stack
wood. "It's good that we spend some time together," he would say as they worked
side by side, "just like my daddy and I did."
During their time talk about birds and together, his father would animals or tell
stories and legends common to North Carolina. Within a few months Noah was
speaking again, though not well, and his father decided to teach him to read with
books of poetry. "Learn to read this aloud and you'll be able to say anything you
want to." His father had been right again, and by the following year, Noah had lost
his stutter. But he continued to go to the lumberyard every day simply because his
father was there, and in the evenings he would read the works of Whitman and
Tennyson aloud as his father rocked beside him. He had been reading poetry ever
since.
When he got a little older, he spent most of his weekends and vacations alone. He
explored the Croatan Forest in his first canoe, following Brices Creek for twenty
miles until he could go no farther, then hiked the remaining miles to the coast.
Camping and exploring became his passion, and he spent hours in the forest, sitting
beneath blackjack oak trees, whistling quietly, and playing his guitar for beavers
and geese and wild blue herons. Poets knew that isolation in nature, far from
people and things man‐made, was good for the soul, and he'd always identified with
poets.
Although he was quiet, years of heavy lifting at the lumberyard helped him excel
in sports, and his athletic success led to popularity. He enjoyed the football games
and track meets, and though most of his teammates spent their free time together
as well, he rarely joined them. An occasional person found him arrogant; most
simply figured he had grown up a bit faster than everyone else. He had a few
girlfriends in school, but none had ever made an impression on him.
Except for one. And she came after graduation. Allie. His Allie.
He remembered talking to Fin about Allie after they'd left the festival that first
night, and Fin had laughed. Then he'd made two predictions: first, that they would
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